


Let's Misbehave

by Marblez



Series: Let's Do It, Let's Fall In Love [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Canon-Typical Violence, Challenge Response, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Rough Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28391247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marblez/pseuds/Marblez
Summary: Phryne returns to Australia after having done what was necessary to aid her father in saving her parents’ marriage, expecting to pick things up where they had left off with the wonderful Jack Robinson only to discover that his ex-wife Rosie has used her absence to reinsert herself into her Guide’s life. Phryne must now fight to keep him whilst solving the murder of a young Sentinel and the abduction of his poor wife and Guide…
Relationships: Albert "Bert" Johnson/Cecil "Cec" Yates, Hugh Collins/Dorothy "Dot" Williams, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Series: Let's Do It, Let's Fall In Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095869
Comments: 23
Kudos: 49





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who have watched MFMM this is set at the end of the third series and ignores the film as I haven’t seen it yet. I’ve also not included Alice as her relationship with Cec didn’t fit with my plan for this Alternate Universe.

**DISCLAIMER –** I don’t own ‘Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries’ or any of the characters.

** LET’S MISBEHAVE **

**PROLOGUE**

There was a feeling of excitement and anticipation in the air as Phryne joined the other passengers on the sundeck to watch the great steam ship upon which they had spent the better part of three months travelling halfway around the globe carefully coming alongside.

She could have flown but doing so would have meant leaving her precious plane in England.

Allowing her enhanced senses a little more leeway than she normally would she soaked up everything about her home; the sights, the sounds, the smells…

It was _glorious_.

She had come online early, too early, in response to her sister’s disappearance and murder.

Her parents had done what they could for their remaining daughter although it had been difficult given their circumstances at the time, particularly her mother, and by the time she’d volunteered to be a nurse during the Great War she was in complete control of her senses although just as with every unbonded Sentinel she still suffered the occasional zone due to things that were out of her control.

Thankfully one of the other nurses had been an unbonded Guide and she’d been willing to help Phryne out when the situation called for it.

After the war things had changed with one tragic realisation, “the heir” was listed missing at sea and her father, “the spare”, had inherited the title, the estate and the family fortune.

And, of course, with all of this had come countless Guide’s desperate for her attention.

But none of them had been _hers_.

No, that honour went to a man that most of her _circle_ deemed completely inappropriate.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.

Their relationship was unconventional, given that they had met through her curious nature and talent at solving crimes. Had she been a man she probably would have become a detective herself but that simply wasn’t a career opportunity for women.

Well, not yet, but she knew one day that the men in charge would have to concede that women could do everything that a man could and until that day she and those like her would do everything they could to break down as many barriers as possible.

Jack had come online as a Guide during the war, something that had greatly upset her when she’d found out how much pain her Guide must have been in, and had been forced to come to terms with his new status and everything that it involved surrounded my mud, blood and death.

He’d returned home from the war a changed man, in more ways than most, and his wife had abandoned him; she’d even gone so far as to blame their divorce on Jack’s behaviour.

To this day Phryne could barely stomach to be in the same room as that horrible woman.

She had known Jack was her Guide from the moment they’d met, when he’d caught her taking a peek at the crime scene on her first ever case. It had been all she could do not to press her nose into the side of his neck to inhale the glorious scent that was her Guide.

He, on the other hand, had denied the pull he’d felt between them until they’d kissed whilst taking down the murderer of her friend who also happened to be one of Phryne’s past lovers and a rather unpleasant one at that, controlling and manipulative.

But even then he had been unwilling to take the plunge,

_“I am in the process of divorcing my wife,”_ he had finally confessed some weeks later when the investigation into her sisters murder had been re-activated due to the escape of Murdoch Foyle, the man Phryne knew had killed poor Janey but could never prove. _“It would hardly be proper for me to enter into a relationship with you so soon after the end of my marriage. I know that our meeting had nothing to do with the end of my marriage to Rosie but that is what everyone will assume and although I no longer care for her as a husband should I still respect Rosie enough to want her to be able to hold her head high.”_

Her Jack was far too good sometimes, she reflected, given how Rosie had gone on to treat him in the months that had followed their divorce.

_“But you do feel it,”_ Phryne had pressed then, moving to stand as close to her Guide as she dared. _“Don’t you? That connection between us?”_

_“Yes,”_ he had all but choked out, his beautifully rich voice thick with emotion. _“But I can’t act on it. Not yet. Please, Miss Fisher, please understand…”_

She had smiled at him, leaning forwards to press a gentle kiss to his cheek before stepping back out of his personal space.

_“I may not be known for my patience, Jack, but in this I will gladly wait until you are ready.”_

And wait she had, through their adventures together and apart, but now she was on her way back to him and he had promised that on her return to Australia they would Bond.

If only her father hadn’t nearly destroyed his marriage with his gambling and his drinking then she wouldn’t have had to fly him back to England after missing his boat in order for him to make it back before the date of her mother’s ultimatum had passed. Jack had come to see them off, like a hero in a motion picture, and had even run into her arms for a kiss.

It had been glorious, her senses desperately attempting to glut themselves on him then and there but she’d wrestled them back under control.

_“I’ll be back as soon as I can,”_ she’d promised.

_“And this time it is I that shall do the waiting, Sentinel.”_

She’d smiled almost giddily, her hands roaming across his marvellous chest.

_“I like the sound of that, Guide.”_

They’d shared one final kiss, interrupted by her father demanding that she get back in the plane before it took off on its own, not that it could or would.

Her Guide had waved them off and that was the last time she’d seen him.

Oh, there had been letters but she had heard nothing from him since she confirmed the date of her passage back to Australia.

She wasn’t concerned, though, or at least that’s what she told herself.

There would no doubt be a perfectly reasonable excuse for her telegrams to have gone unanswered.

Orders were suddenly being shouted back and forth between the various sailors scattered across the sundeck, lines being expertly thrown and tied off to secure the ship. Squaring her shoulders she adjusted her fur shrug, made sure her cloche was pinned securely to her hair and headed towards to the First Class gangway which was slowly being lowered.

One of the sailors wolf-whistled as she approached in her smart navy blue outfit.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” she offered up with a smile. “You’re not my type.”

“I’m sure I could be if I tried hard enough...”

“Not unless you’re my Guide in disguise.”

To say his friends roared with laughter at his subsequent embarrassment and apology was an understatement. Phryne offered him a sympathetic smile, reassuring him that he hadn’t upset or offended her before making her way down the gangplank as the first passenger off.

It didn’t take her long to spot her welcoming committee only it wasn’t the one she was hoping for.

“Miss!”

“Dot!”

They hugged, her companions familiar scent washing over her for a moment.

They leaned back, both smiling broadly until Phryne asked,

“Where’s Jack?”

It was far too telling when Dot’s smile fell away.

“Dot? Where’s Jack?”

“I’m so sorry, Miss.”

~ * ~


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

Phryne allowed herself precisely one day to wallow in bed with the curtains drawn to block out the world before she’d squared her shoulders, rung for Dot to bring her some breakfast and set about conjuring up a plan to fix the mess that Rosie Sanderson had created.

_“Dot? Where’s Jack?”_

_“I’m so sorry, Miss.”_

Her loyal companion’s words had filled her with dread ,her mind picturing the worst.

The explanation that had followed had filled her with anger.

_“He’s with Miss Sanderson.”_

_“…what?”_

_“I don’t know how she did it, Miss, but she’s…she’s convinced him to give her another chance.”_

Persephone, or Percy as she preferred to be known, had appeared in a flash of light.

Her spirit guide was usually a gentle soul, quiet and content to let mundanes think she was a broach or an ornamental hairclip when they caught a glimpse of her resting on her Sentinel. In that moment, however, the usually calm monarch butterfly had been incandescent with rage.

It wasn’t aimed at Jack, nor was Phryne’s anger.

No, it was aimed purely at Rosie Sanderson because the woman knew better, she knew that she was interfering with a bond between a Sentinel and Guide which was technically illegal although, with the way the criminal justice system worked, would be very difficult to prove.

 _“How_ dare _that idiotic woman even think about getting between my Sentinel and her Guide!”_ the spirit guide had all but screamed, causing several people to stare at her in shock. It wasn’t often that spirit guides appeared in public, especially not to mundanes. _“Does she seriously think I’ll let her get away with it? That evil, conniving, manipulative…”_

_“She won’t.”_

And she wouldn’t, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“An invitation came for you today, Miss,” Dot announced as she brought the breakfast tray in, said invitation leaning against the teapot. As Phryne set about slicing open the envelope her companion moved to throw open the curtains and raise the window, allowing a burst of fresh air into the room. After her marriage Dot had intended to move out of Phryne’s house but the sudden trip to England had put her plans on hold, her husband moving in instead so that they could help Mr Butler care for Phryne’s ward, Jane. “Anything interesting?”

Scanning the beautifully embossed card Phryne finally answered with,

“Dickie Trent’s got engaged to Margot Lockhart and about time too, that poor girl. I’ve been invited to their engagement party which is, oh, tonight. That’s rather sort notice.”

“Perhaps the other invitations went out whilst you were abroad, Miss.”

“Yes, perhaps…”

“Well? Are you going to go?”

Phryne sighed thoughtfully.

During her time wallowing she had decided that she needed to figure out how Rosie had tempted her Guide away from her without causing too much of a scene as she knew her Guide would hate for the intricacies of his private life to become public knowledge.

She would need to speak to Jack, she knew that, but she wanted to know more of the facts first before seeing her Guide as she feared his mere presense would overwhelm her senses.

“I don’t suppose it will do any harm.”

Dot smiled with approval and understanding.

“And who knows, perhaps someone there will have some of the information I need?”

And so that was how she found herself dressed in one of her new frocks, a pale blue silk gown with a sash of darker blue silk gathered around her hips and secured low on her soft stomach with an Ancient Egyptian inspired broach, the ends of the sash falling artfully down the front of her gown, and heading out for the evening.

She paired it with a chic little headband that was also inspired by Ancient Egypt and a pair of pale blue satin cut out heels that made her ankles look delightfully slim.

All in all she looked and felt glorious.

Bert and Cec, her loyal friends who earned their living driving a taxi cab and doing work for her on her investigations, both whistled at the sight of her when they arrived to take her to Dickie Trent’s house where the no doubt extravagant party was being held.

They were a Bonded Pair who like Jack had come online during the war.

Thankfully they had found each other and it was entirely possible that it wasn’t only the horror surrounding them that had driven them online but the presense of their Sentinel/Guide. They bickered constantly in the way that couples who had been together for years did, always reconciling before it got too out of hand, and loved each other unreservedly.

“Thank you, gentlemen.”

Arriving at the party fashionably late she was greeted by the hosts, the happy couple who insisted on showing off the extravagant ring before she was allowed to join the party.

It was a veritable who’s who of Melbourne society, plus some from further afield she noted.

She circulated, plucking a flute of champagne from a passing server, and found herself drawn into conversation after conversation, hearing more gossip than she could ever possibly need and a few important tid-bits that she made sure to remember.

Rosie Sanderson’s reputation had suffered in the wake of her father’s exposure as a corrupt policeman, selling young girls into white slavery with the help of her second husband, Sidney Fletcher. She’d been desperately trying to rectify her situation with limited results until her former husband had _“taken pity on the poor woman_ ” and taken her back.

Feigning mild disinterest she enquired,

“Do you know why he took her back?”

“Well, rumour has it he’s a Guide and she’s now claiming that his Sentinel abandoned him.”

It was as though a led weight had dropped into her stomach.

“I…”

 _I didn’t abandon him_ , she wanted to cry out but couldn’t if she wanted to continue gathering the information she so desperately needed.

“Oh, I doubt that’s true; whoever heard of a Sentinel denying their Guide anything?”

“Quite,” Phryne managed to force out. “But then why…?”

“To make herself seem more charitable, perhaps? You know, taking in her ex-husband after he’s so cruelly had his heart broken or some such nonsense?”

It was all she could do to stop her hands from clenching into fists at her sides.

“Of course, the chances are it’s the other way round and he feels sorry for her.”

“Oh, speak of the devil,” one of the other ladies in their small group gasped. “Look!”

Phryne turned and it was as though ice had flooded through her veins for there she was, Rosie Sanderson, greeting the bride-to-be with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I had no idea she even knew Margot…”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Phryne murmured, hopefully managing to conceal her desperate need to get out of there. “I need to powder my nose.”

No, what she needed was to get away from the woman who had _stolen her Guide_ …

She wasn’t ready to face the other woman yet.

She needed more information, more ammunition, if she was going to bring an end to her scheme.

Hurrying out of the room she was debating on whether or not she should simply duck out of the party now before anyone noticed when a horrific scream filled the air, cutting through the music being played by a rather good jazz quintet like a hot knife through butter.

Silence fell briefly before the scream returned, lounder and longer than before.

It was pure instinct for Phryne to turn and hurry towards the source of the scream.

What she found punched the air from her lungs for a long moment.

On the terrace at the back of the grand house a young Guide was stood completely frozen, a shattered champagne flute at his feet. He was the source of the continued scream.

And a couple of feet away from him lay the mutilated body of a handsome young Sentinel.

~ * ~


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

Closing her eyes for a moment Phryne concentrated on her other senses, picking out the various things that were out of place; the scent of cheap cigarettes and stale beer, the sound of a car breaking too much as it went into a sharp turn in the distance, the metallic taste of the Sentinels blood in the air and the frantic beating of the poor Guides heart.

It was her final identification that brought her out of her deeper senses.

Turning she gathered the young man into her arms in the sort of motherly embrace she normally shunned, placing a hand on the back of his head and using the gentle grip to bring his face into the side of her neck. He moved willingly, all but folding into her embrace.

His panicked screams had cut off the moment she’d touched him, fading into heart rending sobs that were filled more with panic than heartbreak.

She had assumed that the hysterical Guide was Bonded to the deceased Sentinel but his reactions weren’t quite right; they were more akin to what she’d witnessed from people who had discovered the bodies at the centre of her cases rather than those of a widowed Guide, particularly when the method of death was so violent and messy.

Turning her attention to the gaggle of party guests who’d followed her out onto the terrace, most of whom were now edging dangerously close to the crime scene, she called out calmly,

“Please do not contaminate the crime scene with your desires to witness the macabre before the police arrive as I do believe we should at least give them a fighting chance of investigating the crime scene in as close to the condition that the killer left it in as possible.”

She put _just enough_ power behind her tone of voice to make it clear that she as a Sentinel wasn’t asking, she was _telling_ and immediately the other Sentinels and Guides in the group took a few paces back, pulling their mundane friends along with them until only a very shocked looking Dickie Trent and a worryingly pale Margot Lockhart remained.

“I trust someone has informed the police that a body has been discovered?”

“Er, I…” Dickie stuttered somewhat helplessly. “I’m afraid don’t know…”

“Well then, perhaps you should go and check,” Phryne suggested tightly, finding herself longing for the calm presence of her Guide; Jack always performed absolutely perfectly at crime scenes, no matter how horrendous they were. He put the victim first, not his own comfort, just as Detective should. “I’d also advise getting your fiancé a stiff drink, Dickie, before she faints from the shock.”

Nodding absentmindedly the society layabout carefully led his fiancé back inside, several of his guests hurrying after him although most remained to gawk from a safe distance.

As the minutes ticked by she felt the Guide in her arms beginning to breathe more evenly, the taste of salt in the air growing fainter as his tears dried up and so, moving slowly, she encouraged him to lean away from her body so that she could meet his grief-stricken gaze.

“Better?”

He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Now, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it but I need you to tell me precisely what happened,” she encouraged him, adjusting her grip so that she could run her hands up and down his arms soothingly. He hesitated, a hand coming up to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Alright, let’s start with something simple; my name is Phryne Fisher and I am a Lady Detective of independent means. I do, however, work closely with the police. And you are?”

“Henry,” the Guide answered automatically, his voice a little bit hoarse from all of the screaming and crying. “Henry Buckton. I’m studying to become a teacher. Mathematics.”

“Impressive. And how do you know the deceased?”

“I don’t,” Henry all but choked, his red-rimmed eyes fluttering across to the cooling body of the Sentinel, glistening with the presense of more tears. “I heard someone shouting…”

“The victim?”

He shook his head,

“No, I mean I don’t know. It was two men and a woman. They were so angry but I couldn’t make out the words.”

Phryne nodded in understanding, unsurprised that he’d picked up on the emotions more than what was said; as a Guide his empathic gifts would have detected even the slightest shift in their emotional state whilst the rest of his senses were only marginally better than that of a mundane. It was Sentinels who had been granted the enhanced senses after all.

“And is this how you found him?”

“N-No,” Henry did choke this time, his fresh tears spilling over. “H-H-He wasn’t dead…”

Her heart ached for him, images of the men she had seen die both during the war and in the years since she’d become an amateur sleuth flashing before her eyes.

It never got any easier.

“He was crawling, or… _pulling_ himself along…”

Now that he’d drawn her attention to it she could clearly make out the slight drag marks at the very edge of the still growing pool of blood, not to mention the scuff marks on the toes of his patent leather shoes. What confirmed the Guide’s statement without a doubt in her mind, however, was the fact that the Sentinel’s fingernails had been torn off as he had literally clawed at the large slabs of marble which made up the floor of the terrace.

It was clear that the Sentinel had been in a great deal of pain, his body curled around what remained of his stomach even as he’d desperately pulled himself along by his hands.

“Did he say anything?”

“Clemmie,” Henry whimpered, hiccupping uncontrollably. “He kept calling out for Clemmie.”

 _Clemmie_.

A quick glance at the Sentinels outstretched hand confirmed the presence of a wedding ring, something men had begun wearing during the war so as to feel closer to their wives and Guides whilst they were off fighting for their country, and her heart ached.

“You said you heard _three_ voices?”

“Two men and a woman,” he confirmed.

“Well, then, I think it’s safe to say that one of those male voices belonged to the victim and the other to his killer whilst the female voice you heard was probably poor Clemmie.”

The Sentinels missing wife and Guide of whom there was no trace; not even the scent of her perfume lingered. Then again most female Guides refrained from the overuse of perfume as the strong scent could and often did play merry hell with a Sentinels enhanced sense of smell so perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that no trace of her remained on the open terrace.

Henry let out a shaky breath, his skin turning worryingly ashen.

“Excuse me!” she called out to one of the young maids hovering amongst the crowd of party goers. The young woman in question jumped in surprise, glancing at the people on either side of her before indicating herself. “Yes, you,” Phryne confirmed somewhat impatiently, beckoning the surprised young woman forwards. “Could you take Mr Buckton inside, please, and find him somewhere quiet to sit down and stay with him until the police get here?”

The maid reminded her a little of how Dot had been when they’d first met, her companion having then been in service to the woman who had turned out to be not only the murderer in Phryne’s first case but also the biggest importer and supplier of cocaine in the city. _“The King of Snow”,_ she’d been known as and Dot, in her naivety, had had absolutely no idea of what was happening under her very nose, much like the young woman Phryne had singled out seemingly hadn’t even considered that the witness would need to speak with the police.

“They’ll want to talk to…oh…” the girl mumbled, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment when Phryne merely hummed in confirmation, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arching. “Um, yes, I can take him into the kitchen? The, er, the guests aren’t allowed in there.”

“Excellent idea.”

As soon as the poor Guide was safely out of view Phryne turned her attention solely onto the victim, all but skipping over to him in her delicate heels. She crouched down beside the body, pulling her long skirt up until it was bunched around her thighs so that it wouldn’t accidently come into contact with the victim’s blood whilst she made her assessment.

He’d been stabbed and a creative tilt of her head to get the correct angle confirmed that the knife was caught up in the Sentinel’s clothing, only the very tip of the handle visible whilst the rest was hidden beneath his blood soaked thigh.

Reaching out she carefully lifted the Sentinel’s jacket out of the way just enough so that she could get a good look at the cause of death, counting six large stabs wounds to the centre of his stomach. The expensive fabric of his clothes had been torn clean through by the blade, a sign that it was incredibly sharp and had been wielded with terrifying force.

It was then, with her hand caught in the cookie jar as it were, that she heard them.

Footsteps.

Oh, so familiar footsteps that they sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

Steady and reassuring and instantly recognisable.

She froze, unable to do anything but let her senses focus on the individual making their way through the house and out onto the terrace, bringing with them the scent of brylcreem and just a hint shoe polish.

They slowed so far as to call it a hesitation at the sight of her crouched beside the body.

A hush fell and then, just as her body began to tremble, the warm voice of her Guide seemed to wash over her as he exhaled shakily,

“Phryne…”

~ * ~


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

Sitting at his desk Jack couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief as he signed the last piece of paperwork relating to their last case, one that had highlighted his young Sergeant as the investigator he would one day be, and dropped his pen into his pen tray in favour of massaging the stiffness out of his fingers.

He honestly didn’t know where he would be with Collins these days.

He was tired, _so tired_ , no matter how early he went to bed.

His skin felt as though it had been pulled tight across his bones, stretched in ways that it wasn’t meant to, and there were always dark bruises underneath his painfully dry eyes.

And the headaches…

Dropping his head into his hands, his elbows braced on the edge of his desk, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed for a moment in an attempt to bring him even the briefest amount of respite.

A soft whine came from the cubby hole underneath his desk and, without moving an inch he cracked his eyes back open and looked down at the King Charles spaniel draped over his feet. He was barely visible, closer to translucent than Jack could ever remember his spirit guide being, and his big brown eyes held a deep sadness.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he begged the small creature.

“I miss her,” Augustus, or rather Gus, whimpered. He was referring more to Percy than Phryne, the two spirit guides having become friends significantly faster than their Sentinel and Guide. “And you miss your Sentinel, no matter what you’ve said.”

Jack couldn’t hold back his grimace of pain.

_His Sentinel._

_“If she was really your Sentinel she’d be here, Jack.”_

His ex-wife’s words pierced through his mind, as painful now as they had been three months ago when she’d come across him sitting in the park they had frequented together when they’d been courting, his hands folding and unfolding Phryne’s latest letter which had apologised yet again for the delay in her return to Australia, to _him_ , but had finally confirmed the date she’d be sailing.

 _“She will be,”_ he’d responded, his words sounding weak to his own ears. _“She just…”_

 _“Oh, Jack; there should be no ‘_ just’ _,”_ she had countered, dropping down to sit beside him on the bench. _“Our marriage was full of ‘_ just’ _and look what happened to us…and we weren’t even a Sentinel and a Guide. I’m…I’m worried about you, Jack. Are you sure she’s…”_

 _“I’m sure,”_ he’d interrupted firmly. _“Phryne is my Sentinel, Rosie; she’s my perfect match.”_

_“…doesn’t look that perfect from where I’m sitting…”_

They never should have kissed, he realised now.

He should have waited until Phryne returned to take that step towards Bonding.

Just that simple kiss, filled with so much passion and love the promise of a future together.

It had left him desperate for more but unable to get what he needed.

Gus all but whimpered, his tail tucked despondently between his back legs,

“When will they be home?”

“I don’t know.”

He was lying, as much to himself as to his spirit guide.

He knew full well that her ship had docked two days ago because he’d looked it up with every intention of being there to meet her when she stepped back onto Australian soil.

But then he had heard nothing from her for the entire duration of her voyage.

Nothing.

_“I hate to say this Jack but…”_

_“No; there must be a reason for her not to contact me,”_ Jack had argued when Rosie had brought up the possibility for the continued lack of communication during one of her by then daily visits. _“She wouldn’t just…it’s not like her to…”_

“ _Jack…”_

_“She wouldn’t.”_

And yet, seemingly, she had.

He’d received nothing since the letter telling him she would finally be sailing.

Not even on his birthday which he had been resigned to spending alone following a hard day dealing with petty criminals making a nuisance of themselves. He would have done, too, had Rosie not popped round with a birthday card and a bottle of whiskey.

_“I hated the idea of you spending your birthday alone like I had to this year.”_

The only other gift he had received had come from Collins and had been a matching set of scarf and gloves knitted by his wife, his Sentinels loyal companion.

And speaking of Collins…

A knock came on his door and, after he’d bid him to enter, the younger man entered carrying a mug of steaming tea. He went to speak, carefully placing the mug before Jack, but was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the telephone out on the main desk.

Hurrying back to answer it Collins spent the next few minutes taking down the particulars of the latest crime they’d be investigating; the murder of a Sentinel.

Pain lanced through his heart at the mere thought of such a crime.

“Sir, there’s been…”

“I heard,” Jack interrupted him, gulping down the cup of tea as quickly as he could before rising to collect his coat and hat. “Any word on whether or not the victim was Bonded?”

“They didn’t say,” Collins offered. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t think to ask.”

“That’s alright, Collins; we’ll find out when we get there.”

Augustus crawled out from under the desk, shook the dust from himself so wildly that his ears flopped back and forth, and then disappeared between one blink and the next.

He wasn’t particularly fond of crime scenes and tended to only visit them when Jack called or, as had happened on more occasions than he cared to recall, the Guide was in danger.

As they travelled across to the other side of the city he perused Collins’ notes, taking in as much of the information as he needed; the Sentinel had been discovered on the rear terrace of a grand house not too far from that of Prudence Stanley, Phryne’s aunt, during an engagement party.

 _What is it with this neighbourhood and engagement parties_ , he wondered to himself, thinking of all that had happened when Mrs Stanley herself had hosted her sons engagement party; a young girl had been found drowned in the pool, murdered by Murdoch Foyle who would go on to stalk and kidnap Jane so as to get to Phryne, all in the hopes of being protected and resurrected by the sacrifices of his “four goddesses” of which Phryne was number four, her sister Janey having been killed by mistake when they were children.

Had that really only been, what, a year…two years ago?

So much had happened since then…

They arrived at the crime scene to find glamorously dressed men and women gathered in three areas, some outside the front of the house who clearly wanted to leave but had at least thought better of it until the police had arrived whilst others were crowded in the ballroom where a young woman appeared to be having a hysterical fit.

The bride-to-be, he surmised by the gaggle of women reassuring her that what had happened wasn’t in any way an omen for the oncoming wedding and marriage, who was understandably distressed by the unexpected turn of events.

Here they were met by the groom who barely managed to stop himself from sneering down his nose at the _lowly_ policemen before turning to lead them through the house to the crime scene. It was there, on the terrace just outside the large doors, that the third group of people were gathered so as to gawk at the grisly sight from a reasonably safe distance.

It wasn’t until he and Collins had made it through the crowd that he realised there was someone knelt over the body of the victim but once he did he couldn’t stop himself from hesitating in his stride as he came face to face with the last person he expected to see.

“Phryne…”

~ * ~


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

“Phryne…”

It took every ounce of control she possessed not to rush over to her Guide.

He looked _awful_ …

His skin was pale apart from the painfully dark circles around his eyes, eyes that were red and tired looking, and his hair lacked some of its usual lustre despite being styled as per usual with the soft waves swept back off of Jack’s face. Whilst his clothes were as perfectly turned out as always, freshly laundered and pressed, they seemed to hang off of him in a way that they never had before; he’d lost weight in the time that she’d been away.

He cleared his throat, shifting his shoulders as though he were in pain,

“I mean, Miss Fisher.”

She felt her smile falter slightly before softening as she responded,

“Hello, Jack.”

There was a pause during which she found herself focusing on the way his heart first slowed, reacting to the shock of seeing her, and then sped up to a fraction too fast.

She couldn’t tell if it was because he was pleased to see her or if he was in distress.

She hoped with all her heart that it was the former because the mere thought of her Guide finding her mere presence upsetting made her want to cry, something that as a rule she tried not to do as concealing her emotions had always been one of her greatest weapons.

“…I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find you here.”

“I was invited,” she responded, rising to her feet as he moved to stand a couple of paces away from her. “I know the happy couple.”

“And do you happen to know the victim as well?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Stepping out of his way she smiled fondly as Jack immediately turned his attention to the body, mimicking her earlier movements as he sought out the cause of death.

“I do know that his Guide is known as Clemmie, however, and that he crawled after he was stabbed in the hopes of rescuing her from their attacker.”

His frown, thankfully, hadn’t changed.

“The young Guide who came across the scene overheard the end of the struggle,” she explained. “Two male voices; one female. When he came upon the body he was pulling himself along by his hands, you’ll notice the lack of fingernails, and calling for Clemmie.”

“I see your time away hasn’t diminished your detective skills,” Jack murmured, a fondness entering his voice that made her own heart flutter. It was just like old times, or it was until he visibly closed himself off. “And may I ask for the location of this witness?”

“I believe you’ll find him in the kitchen,” she answered, leaning over the victim alongside her Guide whilst taking great care not to encroach on his space in spite of how intoxicating she found his scent to be. “He was quite distraught. I asked one of the staff to take him somewhere quiet and she suggested the kitchen as none of the guests would be there.”

His nod of approval was like cool water on a scorching hot day.

“Stabbed,” he surmised.

“The knife is…”

“…caught up in his clothes, yes, I can see,” he murmured, not dismissively but rather fondly. “Killer probably left the knife in the final wound and it came loose when the poor man was dragging himself after his…”

Jack couldn’t finish his assessment of the situation, his voice becoming choked.

“Yes,” she agreed unnecessarily. “He must have been out of his mind with worry…”

“I can only imagine the pain his Guide must be in…”

Absentmindedly his hand came up, rubbing gently at his sternum right above his heart.

She found herself unable to hold back her next words,

“…why didn’t you come to the docks like you said you would?”

Her Guide froze, his entire body going as still as the poor Sentinel at their feet before he finally countered with,

“Why didn’t you write to me after you sailed?”

Phryne flinched away from him, her expression falling into a frown.

“…I _did_ write to you. I sent you a telegram every couple of days, telling you about my crossing and how much I missed you; Jack, I sent you _three_ on your birthday alone!”

If anything he seemed, somehow, to go even more rigid, barely even breathing.

“Jack…” her heart fluttered madly with hope. “Jack, are you saying you didn’t get any of my telegrams? _None_ of them?”

Slowly, oh so slowly, he shook his head.

“I haven’t heard from you since you told me which ship you’d be sailing on.”

He sounded so lost, so unlike her Jack as he blinked at her in horrified disbelief.

“No,” she argued automatically. “That’s not right.”

It was instinct to reach out to comfort her Guide but no sooner had she stretched out her hand towards his upper arm than the voice she least wanted to hear called out sharply,

“Jack!”

Rosie.

Before either of them could do more than turn and look at the mundane woman Gus flickered into existence, growling angrily towards her even as Percy joined him, fluttering wildly before landing on top of the King Charles spaniels head with an angry,

“Why is _she_ here?”

“Percy,” Phryne automatically scolded her Spirit Guide. “Don’t be rude.”

It was amazing how such a tiny creature could appear so offended in response to being told off by her Sentinel, particularly as she clearly felt she had been right to behave as she had.

“Jack, could you please get your pet under control?”

Before Jack could even think to answer Phryne had turned at glare at the other woman.

“A spirit guide is _not_ a pet,” she corrected her, her voice probably a fraction sharper than was strictly necessary but the foul woman had somehow inserted herself back into her Guide’s life and Phryne was willing to bet she had something to do with her telegrams going awry. “They are the physical manifestation of a spirit and as such they possess a mind and will all of their own.”

“And a voice,” Gus spoke up for himself, glaring up at Jack’s ex-wife before turned his back on her and entered into a clearly joyous reunion with Percy, the two of them speaking so quickly and quietly that no one but they could understand what was being said.

It was a joy to see the two Spirit Guides interacting with one another again; she wondered if Jack felt the same warmth in his stomach as she did in response to their close proximity.

“Why must you cause trouble everywhere you go, Miss Fisher?”

“Because otherwise life would be so dull,” Phryne couldn’t help but respond cheekily, even going so far as to alter her stance into one that might be labelled as flighty or flirtatious. “Wouldn’t it, Jack?”

“I…”

“I had no idea you were back in Australia, Miss Fisher,” Rosie announced, literally speaking over her ex-husband in a way that made Phryne’s blood boil. “Jack was beginning to fear you’d never come back.”

Judging by the deepening frown on her Guide’s face it was unlikely that Jack had expressed such an opinion quite so bluntly, nor did he approve of her sharing it so unkindly.

“Mother and Father needed a little more supervision that I had anticipated,” she answered truthfully, forcing herself not to show anything but calm confidence as she smiled at the other woman. Phryne would _never_ let Rosie Sanderson know just how much she got under her skin. “It was such a fantastical tale, full of murders and relations coming back from the dead who turned out to be said murderer and missing boats due to being kidnapped that my mother would never have believed my father had I not been there to vouch for it all.”

“Yes, well, it does not surprise me that some find your tales… _unbelievable_ …”

Jack shifted beside her, visibly uncomfortable with the situation.

“Sir?” Collins called out, his youthful voice cutting through the growing tension as he approached, his eyes pretty much glued to the notebook in his hand. “I’ve had a quick word with Mr…er…Mr Trent about the identity of the victim.”

He glanced up, offering Phryne a smile.

Poor Hugh had been so uncomfortable, worried about putting a foot out of line in her house now that she was home and had spent every moment they’d been together since she’d emerged from her room promising to find somewhere suitable for he and Dot to move into.

_“It’s not easy though, not with the baby…”_

And that had been how she’d found out her companion was pregnant, thus identifying the unusual scent that had been clinging to the young woman, not to mention the glow in her cheeks.

 _“Hugh!”_ his wife had scolded him, hitting him with the flour covered towel in her hands. _“I hadn’t found the right time to tell Miss Fisher our news and here you go just blurting it out for…”_

Phryne had cut off the remainder of the telling off by scooping her companion up into a tight hug, sincere congratulations tumbling from her lips; she honestly couldn’t think of two more perfect parents-to-be that Hugh and Dorothy Collins.

_“But Hugh’s right, Miss, we are looking for a place only…”_

_“Nonsense,”_ Phryne had countered firmly. _“Take as long as you need! I_ refuse _to allow two of my favourite people to move into a sub-standard property on the eve of welcoming my Godchild into the world.”_

Given that neither of them had corrected her suggestion that she would be named the child’s Godmother she took it to mean that she was indeed to be included in the child’s family in an official capacity. She was already looking forward to spoiling them rotten and teaching them how to break the idiotic rules, bend the silly ones and obey the good ones.

“…and?” Phryne prompted. “Hugh? Who is he?”

Hugh glanced down at his notebook to ensure he was reporting the correct details.

“Robert Underwood. He was here with his wife Clementine.”

As one Phryne and Jack turned to smile sadly at each other,

_“Clemmie.”_

~ * ~


	6. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d struggled so much at the scene of a crime.

His heart felt as though it had dropped into his stomach, thudding uncomfortably, and the palms of his hands seemed to be sweatier than ever before.

He cleared his throat, initially out of need but it quickly transformed into a way to draw the attention of the young police photographer who’d arrived a good fifteen minutes after he and Collins in order to create a permanent record of the scene,

“I’m going to need at least one good shot of the knife where it’s ended up.”

“…right.”

Jack could understand the younger man’s lack of enthusiasm.

Given the position of the body this required the poor man to stretch out on the ground beside the victim, his 4x5" Graflex Speed Graphic press camera with its attached bulb flash camera propped on extended arm to keep it steady as he attempted to get the shot.

He took a few just to be on the safe side.

Of course the source of Jack’s discomfort had nothing to do with the crime, distressing as the murder of a Sentinel and the abduction of his Guide was; no, it had more to do with Phryne and Rosie.

_Phryne._

His Sentinel, returned from England at long last.

 _“…I_ did _write to you. I sent you a telegram every couple of days, telling you about my crossing and how much I missed you; Jack, I sent you three on your birthday alone!”_

She’d sounded so earnest, so horrified, so _hurt_ when she’d realised that he hadn’t heard from her for the duration of her journey that what she said had to be true.

And yet…

“You can’t possibly be thinking of forgiving her,” his ex-wife spoke up, glaring after the strong-willed woman in question as she made her way back into the house in search of the groom, intending to see if she had more success gathering information from him about the victims than Collin’s had. Her methods, unusual as they could be, had led to more breakthroughs in their cases than he’d once cared to admit, particularly when the case had anything to do with members of society. “Jack, she _abandoned_ you!”

“No, she didn’t,” he countered with a shake of his head, turning his back on the crime scene so that he could meet Rosie’s heated gaze. “I was under no illusions about how long she might be away and now it seems that her messages were mislaid…”

“Jack, you can’t possibly believe that!” Rosie scoffed. “She’s obviously lying!”

Her anger hit him almost like a slap to the face, strong and acrid.

And there, underneath the anger, was something he wasn’t expecting.

Jealousy.

“She’s just trying to manipulate you into letting her run roughshod over you again!”

“She doesn’t run roughshod over m…”

“Yes, she _does_ , Jack!” Rosie all but screamed, drawing far too much attention and it was instinctive for him to take her by the elbow and lead her away from the crime scene. “I can’t believe after everything I’ve done for you that you’re going to listen to her! She’ll _ruin_ you!”

The vitriol behind her words was enough to stun him into silence.

He’d always known that Rosie disliked Phryne, just as he’d always known that Phryne had a very low opinion of his ex-wife.

What he hadn’t realised was just how much he Rosie _hated_ his Sentinel.

It was so obvious, so impossible to miss now that he’d recognised that familiar feeling for precisely what it was and couldn’t help but wonder how he’d never noticed before…

“…why do you hate her so much?”

He wasn’t really expecting a response.

He got one, though,

“Because she has _everything_ and I have _nothing!”_

“Rosie…”

“She’s _beautiful_!” she continued, hatred spitting out of her as her eyes seemed to literally blaze with fury. “So damned beautiful that men just swoon over her and it makes me sick because no man has _ever_ swooned over me, not even _you_!”

She was right, of course.

He hadn’t ever swooned over Rosie, not once, and in the past he had felt guilty about it.

What sort of groom doesn’t swoon over the sight of his bride on their wedding day?

Once upon a time he would have argued that it simply wasn’t in his nature but now…

Well, there was no denying that he had most definitely swooned over Phryne on more than one occasion…

The first time he’d seen her wearing trousers…

When she’d gone undercover in a so-called _Gentleman’s Club_ and had performed a topless fan dance…

Seeing her modelling a couture gown to help her friend’s salon to recover from a scandal…

Hearing her voice when they’d dueted together for the first time…

Seeing her beaming smile as she walked Dot down the aisle…

No, he couldn’t say it wasn’t in his nature.

Not anymore.

Rosie glared up at him, beginning to pace as she threw her hands up into the air.

“And she’s so _confident_ and…and…and _powerful!”_ she hiss, tears of anger welling up in her eyes. “She could treat you like dirt and you’d still follow at her heels like a…a loyal _puppy_!”

Gus growled from where he’d settled onto his haunches at Jack’s feet.

It was then, with her ager boiling over, that she slipped up.

“I can’t believe it was all for nothing!” she laughed bitterly. “All the time and…and effort I went to, getting your post redirected to my house, making sure you weren’t alone on…”

“…what did you just say?”

She froze, her eyes going wide with panic as she realised her mistake.

“I…”

“… _what did you just say?!”_

There was no denying the fact that all eyes were on them now, some of the party guests still waiting to give their statements actually coming out onto the terrace to watch.

“I had to!” Rosie screamed, pointing in the direction of the house just as Jack sensed Phryne approaching. He turned, finding his Sentinel stood in the doorway with a look of concern on her beautiful face. “That woman is going to get you _killed_!”

Jack shook his head in casual denial, returning his attention to his incensed ex-wife.

“On the contrary,” he stated, forcing his voice to remain calm and precise, “that woman has saved my life and my sanity more times that I would care to mention.”

“She’s not _good_ for you, Jack, not like I am!”

Her hands were suddenly clutching at his jacket lapels and he couldn’t stop himself from flinching back from the unwelcome touch, bringing his own hands up in a semi-aborted defensive move so that his wrists ended up knocking her hands away.

“Don’t you touch him!” Gus growled, darting forwards to snap his teeth at Rosie’s ankles until she stumbled back a couple of paces. “Don’t you _dare_ touch him!”

“Jack!”

He blinked slowly, barely hearing her desperate cry as his mind took him back through every meeting he had had with his ex-wife whilst Phryne was away.

God…

How could he had been so blind?

It was so obvious.

“Jack, _please_!”

“…you intercepted her telegrams…”

His voice sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“…you convinced me that she’d forgotten about me…”

Tears flooded down Rosie’s flushed cheeks but Jack felt nothing.

“…you did all this to stop me from Bonding with Phryne…”

“I did it for _you_!”

“No,” Jack all but gasped, turning away from his ex-wife in favour of facing his Sentinel. “No, Rosie; you did it for _you_.”

Rosie whimpered pathetically,

“Jack, please…”

His eyes met those of his Sentinel, finding warmth and love and encouragement in them.

And thrumming between them was their potential bond, stronger than ever.

It gave him the strength to turn back to his wife and, his voice as cool and composed as he informed her,

“I think we’re done here, Miss Sanderson.”

~ * ~


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

Hugh Collins, exhausted more than he cared to admit after solving one difficult case only to catch another straight after, thanked his friend at the _‘Births, Marriages and Deaths’_ records department who had just supplied him with the information he needed. His handwriting left much to be desired, just as it always did, but that wasn’t as important as what he’d written.

Hanging up the phone he snatched up his notepad, tugged on the bottom of his tunic to remove any creases that had appeared whilst he’d been leant over the desk, and hurried along the corridor to Detective Robinson’s office. The door was already open, Miss Fisher having arrived whilst he was on the phone, and as he entered the room he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sight of his superior tucked firmly into the arms of his Sentinel.

He’d hated watching Detective Robinson deteriorate whilst Miss Fisher was away.

There had only been so much that he and Dot could do, especially with his wife in such a delicate condition, and it was a relief to see that his superior was already looking better.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but I have the information you requested.”

“No need to apologise, Collins,” Detective Robinson murmured, pulling himself away from his Sentinel with clear reluctance. She moved with him, moving to stand behind his chair once he had settled back into it and resting her hands on his shoulders. “What’ve you got?”

“Victims name is Robert Underwood, twenty-nine-years-old,” Collin reported, focusing on his notepad. “He came online as a Sentinel seven years ago. His wife and Guide, Clementine, came online a year ago after being introduced to Robert by a mutual acquaintance. They were married six months later after her divorce was finalised…”

“Her divorce?” Miss Fisher questioned, surprised. “She was already married?”

“Yes, to a Martin Drake,” Hugh confirmed. “A mundane.”

“And let me guess,” Detective Robinson sighed. “Their divorce was far from amicable.”

Grimacing Hugh nodded, referring back to his notes as he explained,

“Apparently Mr Drake had to be removed from the courtroom after threatening to harm both his ex-wife and her Sentinel during the dissolution of the marriage. It got quite…ugly.”

“Not unusual, sadly…”

No, it wasn’t, Hugh reflected sadly as he recalled the number of cases he’d been called to where the crux of the issue turned out to be a newly formed bond between a Sentinel and Guide that had sadly resulted in the end of a relationship, be that a new engagement or a marriage of twenty years. Late emergences was difficult, not only for the Sentinel or Guide in question who suddenly had to deal with their advanced senses or empathic abilities but for those who ended up being left behind. He couldn’t imagine how he’d react if he was in their shoes but thankfully he never would be as neither he nor Dot had tested as latents.

Of course, that didn’t mean it definitely wouldn’t happen to them but that chances that either of them had the potential to come online were small, particularly as there were no online Sentinels or Guides in their families for at least four generations if not a few more.

He hoped that if by some minor miracle something did happen that he’d react better than those he’d met through his occupation, particularly as he’d read all of the information Miss Fisher had provided him and Dot with about the so called ‘second genders’ and what that really meant for those who presented. Sentinels and Guides were fated to have one perfect mate, a soul who matched their own perfectly, and when they found them there wasn’t a lot they could do about it; pretty much everyone he’d spoken to since joining Dot’s church had expressed a firm belief that the bon between a Sentinel and Guide was a sign from God.

Hugh liked to think that was true but even if it wasn’t Miss Fisher had given him enough scientific material to read over the years to know that if nothing else it was uncontrollable.

“Do we have an address for Mr Drake, Collins?”

“We do, sir.”

As he’d known she would Miss Fisher followed them in her car, not even attempting to be discreet about her intentions, and Hugh caught his boss smiling at the rear view mirror on more than one occasion during the journey across town to what had once been the happy home of Mr and Mrs Drake but had now been reduced to the neglected home of a drunk.

“Even I can smell the booze and I’m not a Sentinel…”

“Trust me, Hugh, you’re lucky,” Miss Fisher muttered as they waited for the occupant to respond to his knock on the door. “I don’t think he’s home, gentlemen. All I can smell is alcohol and cigarettes with just a hint of fresh vomit which as I’m sure you can imagine is absolutely delightful. There’s a door knocking against its frame in the breeze from an open upstairs window but I’m afraid that’s it in regards to signs of life. No heartbeats; no voices.”

Stepping away from the front door Miss Fisher stepped off the path, heedless of the way her stylishly narrow heels sunk into the dirt of what had once been a flowerbed but was now a patch of weeds, and cupped her hands against the glass of the window. Leaning in she peered into the house, humming absentmindedly to herself until she announced,

“Jack, I see an overturns coffee table, a broken tea service and a ladies shoe…”

Detective Robinson sighed before nodding towards the door.

“Kick it down, Collins.”

This proved to be easier said than done, his boot striking the door with as much force as he could muster three times before the lock finally broke free of the doorframe, allowing it to swing open so suddenly that Hugh all but tumbled into the house, tripping over a second female shoe that was resting at the bottom of the narrow staircase. By the time Hugh had straightened himself back up the Sentinel and Guide pair had entered the house, hurrying into the living room to inspect the scene. There was blood, smeared on the arms of one of the chair and on the switch of the lamp smashed on the far side of the overturned coffee table, and the broken tea service had been in use at the time that it was broken, a large tea stain on the rug emanating from the broken pot. By the time Hugh entered the room Miss Fisher had also discovered some droplets of blood, beside the chair and by the fireplace.

“The smeared blood belongs to the victim,” she announced, grimacing as she used her heightened sense of smell to differentiate between them. “The droplets by the fireplace belong to the same woman who was wearing these shoes, Clemmie, I presume, whilst the droplets by the chair belong to the man I can now smell beneath the alcohol and vomit.”

“She fought back,” Detective Robinson murmured, his voice thick with approval, bringing a smile to his Sentinels face. “Check the rest of the house, Collins, just in case they are here.”

“They’re not, Jack,” Miss Fisher sighed. “But by all means…”

Hugh obediently completed a quick search of the house finding no evidence of the missing Guide in any of the other rooms, all of which were in a terrible state. His only discovery was the number of empty whiskey bottles he found abandoned around the house, totalling an alarming seventeen by the time he returned to the living room to report on his findings.

“Miss Fisher’s right, sir; they’re not here.”

He could understand the huff of frustration that Detective Robinson let out.

They needed to find her.

Fast.

With every hour that passed her chances of survival diminished and the sun was already beginning to disappear over the horizon and the chances of her surviving the night were…

Well, if Hugh was honest, he didn’t want to think about her chances.

“Where would he have taken her if not here?”

Hugh pulled out his notebook to check the information he’d written down but there was nothing new, only the victims address which had been checked by Constable Mathewson, the address that they were currently at and the important life dates of all three of them.

“…is that his wedding ring?”

“No,” Miss Fisher countered, moving to pluck the ring off of the mantelpiece, slipping it onto the ring finger of her right hands. “Too small. This is a woman’s ring, tarnished from years of wear; I’d guess it was Clemmie’s from her first marriage.” She paused, her eyes drawn to the only framed photograph on the mantelpiece, picking it up to get a closer look at it before glancing around the room. “This is the only photograph of Clemmie to survive his drunken rage,” she pointed out, indicating several other broken frames in the corner of the room. The pictures were missing and a glance into the fireplace revealed a couple of fragments of them, no more than a couple of charred corners. “What was so special about this photo?”

As one Hugh and Detective Robinson moved to stand on either side of the glamourous Sentinel, looking down at the photograph in her hands. It was of the couple, Martin and Clemmie, during happier times. They were standing arm in arm in front of a set of gates.

“This place must have special significance to Drake…”

“…but where is it?”

Hugh surprised himself as much as he did them by answering without hesitation,

“St Kilda Botanical Gardens.”

He couldn’t help but flush self-consciously as they turned to stare at him, explaining,

“I took Dot there after we got engaged.”

“Perhaps they did the same,” Detective Robinson theorised, studying the brilliant smiles on the face of the couple. “Perhaps…perhaps it could even be where they first met. Perhaps he’s hoping that by taking her back to that place she’ll fall in love with him all over again…”

From that moment it was a race to see who could get to the Botanical Gardens first and, given her propensity for driving much faster than was appropriate and her exceptionally powerful car, Miss Fisher arrived long enough before them that there was no sign of her when Hugh pulled the tired old police vehicle to a halt directly behind her Hispano Suiza.

Cursing his Sentinel’s rash behaviour Detective Robinson all but threw himself out of the vehicle, drawing the pistol he had thankfully had the forethought to draw from the gun cabinet at the police station before the left for Mr Drake’s house. Hugh had his own pistol out moments later, following his superior into the gardens as quickly as they could move.

It was dark, the gardens deserted, but then…

“Martin Drake!” they heard Miss Fisher scream in the distance. “ _Let her go_!”

Sharing a worried look the two men put on a burst of speed, the Guide pulling ahead just as they rounded a corner on the designated path and came across the terrifying sight of Martin Drake holding his ex-wife’s head under the water of one of the large, decorative fountains.

Miss Fisher was stood behind him, her golden pistol aimed at his back.

“I said,” Miss Fisher all but growled, her voice causing Drake to visibly twitch. “ _Let her go!”_

“She _abandoned_ me!”

“She didn’t abandon you,” Miss Fisher responded, her expression filled with concern as they all saw Clemmie’s struggles beginning to become sluggish and weak. “She met her Sentinel.”

Detective Robinson hurriedly put his gun away, gestured for Hugh to cover him and then literally launched himself at the man attempting to murder his ex-wife when Drake turned to glare at Miss Fisher over his shoulder, planting his shoulder in the mundanes side as he knocked him to the ground. When the man struggled, trying to get up, Detective Robinson delivered such a powerful blow to his jaw that Drake’s head snapped to the side and his body responded like a puppet with its strings got cut, collapsing to the ground unconscious.

“Hugh!” Miss Fisher cried out, drawing his attention away from the two men. “Help me!”

She was, he was concerned to realise, _in_ the fountain struggling to lift poor Clemmie up.

“Miss Fisher!” he found himself gasping out, hurrying forwards to take the woman from her, carefully lifting the drenched Guide out of the fountain and laying her on the ground. Before he could worry too much about how still she was the young woman let out a violent cough, her back arching up off the ground as water spurted out of her mouth. Helping her roll onto her side he looked up in time to see Miss Fisher, her dress now alarmingly transparent in a few places, climb carefully out of the fountain. “You’re alright now; he can’t hurt you again.”

Clemmie sobbed weakly, curling into his arms as she continued to cough up water.

A glance across at his boss confirmed that Detective Robinson had rolled Drake onto his front and was in the process of pulling his hands into the middle of his back. Without an ounce of forethought Hugh retrieved his handcuffs and tossed them over to the Guide.

“Thank you, Collins,” he murmured, securing them around Drake’s limp wrists. “Phryne…”

It was only then that he noticed the state Miss Fisher was in, his eyes going wide at the sight of the pale flesh revealed by the translucent fabric. Moving quickly he shrugged off his coat, hurrying over to wrap it around his Sentinels shoulders over her own coat which was more stylish than practical even as she huffed fondly at him. And then, with a glance over at the still unconscious Mr Drake, the confident woman who was his superiors match, laughed.

“Nicely done, Jack.”

~ * ~


	8. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

“When I heard that a kidnapped Guide had been brought in following a violent abduction and an attempted drowning I just _knew_ you’d be here,” Mac announced dryly as she made her way into the private room when a pair of nurses were carefully removing what had once been Clemmie’s beautiful party frock, now torn, blood-stained and soaking wet. Rolling her eyes at her friends, albeit correct, assumption Phryne smiled as she caught sight of Percy reuniting with her friend, Edna. The fact that both she and her best friend had butterfly’s for Spirit Guides had always amused Phryne, the brilliant orange of Percy’s wings complimented by the soft yellow of Edna’s, the latter being a beautiful swallowtail butterfly. “Honestly...”

Mac was a Sentinel, just like Phryne, only tragically her Guide had been killed before they could Bond. Her Guide, Daisy Murphy, had been killed in what had initially been labelled a “tragic accident” but through Phryne’s investigation it had been confirmed that she’d been murdered by her ex-lover. The similarities to her current case were hard for Phryne to miss.

“She’d suffering from a broken bond,” she murmured regretfully, her words causing not only Mac to freeze by both of the nurses working over the poor young woman, identical looks of horror blossoming on their faces. “Her Sentinel was murdered by her ex-husband earlier this evening in an attempt to force her to love him again,” Phryne found herself explaining, her words prompting Mac to step forwards so she could begin her examination, murmuring soft instructions to the horrified nurses and words of sympathy to the young woman. “When that didn’t work he tried to kill her, specifically to drown her in a fountain.”

A Siamese cat, almost completely transparent, appeared at the foot of the bed.

At one Percy and Edna moved to flutter around the other Spirit Guide, trying to comfort the obviously desolate creature as much as Mac was now attempting to comfort its Sentinel.

Whether or not Clemmie would recover Phryne had no way of knowing.

Sentinels and Guides who lost their bonded partners often succumbed to the grief of losing a part of their soul, the statistics for survival for a widowed Guide currently standing at only 25% and of those 20% had young children that needed them. The statistics for surviving Sentinels were even worse, sadly with only 10% surviving the loss of their bonded Guide.

Phryne was convinced that it was only because they hadn’t been able to bond before she was murdered that had saved Mac from being lost to grief following Daisy’s tragic death.

As it was she was changed by her experience, by her loss, but still clinging to life.

“I’ll leave her in your capable hands, then, Mac,” Phryne murmured. “I’m sure the police will be round at some point to check on her and, if she’s able to speak, to take her statement.”

Mac nodded.

“I’d…I’d appreciate you keeping my updated on her condition.”

“Of course, Phryne,” Mac agreed without hesitation. “I’ll telephone you if anything…”

“Thank you.”

Exhaustion hit her like a brick wall as she was driving home from the hospital.

She’d offered to escort Clemmie to the hospital so that Jack and Hugh could take the by then semi-unconscious Mr Drake back to the police station, arranging with her Guide for him to meet her back at her house once he was done processing the murderer. As such she was anxious to get home so that she could change in her most comfortable silk pyjamas, pour herself a large measure of her finest whiskey and wait for her Guide to join her.

Reaching up she pulled her headband off, dropping it onto the passenger seat before using her fingers to smooth her still damp hair off of her face, humming to herself before singing,

_“Goodbye to all care and to all sorrow,  
I'm pushin' the blues out o' my way,  
Life gonna start all over tomorrow,  
Just telegraphed my baby to say.  
That I'm all wrapped up in sunshine,  
Underneath a sky of blue,  
'Cause I'm sailin' on a sunbeam,  
On my way to you.   
Not a cloud is gonna stop me,  
I'll be comin' right straight through,  
'Cause I'm sailin' on a sunbeam,  
On my way to you.”_

Pulling around the corner she smiled as she saw the lights on in her house, picturing Dot and Mr Butler moving around the house, going about their business. Even though she was more exhausted than she’d expected to be, give that she’d only been intending to go to a party, she managed to reverse her car onto her driveway without any issues, singing all the while,

_“We're gonna get married, get married and how,  
Too long we have tarried, it won't be long now,  
Set the weddin' bells a-ringin',  
Let the whole world know it's true,  
'Cause I'm sailin' on a sunbeam,  
On my way to you.  
I'm all wrapped up in sunshine,  
Underneath a sky of blue,  
'Cause I'm sailin' on a sunbeam,  
On my way to you,  
Not a cloud is gonna stop me,  
I'll be comin' right straight through,  
'Cause I'm sailin' on a sunbeam,  
On my way to you.”_

Cutting the engine she grabbed her purse and headband from the passenger seat, climbed out of the car and, as was her habit, made her way back along the driveway towards the pavement; she only went in through the back door when she was with Dot as even now her companion had a _thing_ about the front door being for Phryne and her guests.

_“We're gonna get married, get married and how,  
Too long we have tarried, it won't be long now,  
Set the weddin' bells a-ringin',  
Let the whole world know it's–”_

Had she not been so tired, and perhaps had she not been singing to herself she reflected later, she would have realised that there was someone waiting for her on the veranda.

As it was she was halfway down the tiled path before she noticed, her voice cutting off suddenly as she found herself facing an enraged Rosie Sanderson for the second time.

“Miss Sanderson,” she forced herself to call out calmly. “Isn’t it a little late for a visit?”

Eyes blazing with fury Rosie brought her right hand out from behind her, revealing that she was holding what appeared to be an old army pistol, and aiming it at Phryne she screamed,

“I won’t let you have him!”

It was painfully clear to the Sentinel that the failure of Rosie’s scheme had sent the other woman spiralling down into a complete mental breakdown, her heart racing much too fast and her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Her body trembled although her hand, Phryne was morbidly amused to realise, remained perfectly steady as Rosie aimed for her heart.

“Miss Sanderson…”

Before she could even begin to come up with a suitable argument she heard footsteps approaching from inside the house moments before the front door opened to reveal...

“ _Miss!”_

“Go back inside, Dot,” Phryne ordered quickly, gratefulness surging through her when her shocked companion slammed the door shut before Rosie could turn towards her. “ _Rosie_!”

“Do _not_ call me that!”

Underneath the semi-deranged scream Phryne heard Dot sprint across to the telephone, requesting to be put through to the police station _at once_ before calling out for Mr Butler.

Good.

Hopefully her darling companion would be able to catch Jack and Hugh before they left the station so that they’d have some sort of an idea as to what they would soon be walking into.

“You just couldn’t let him be happy, could you?”

“… _happy_?” Phryne couldn’t stop herself from repeating incredulously. “He wasn’t…”

“He could have been happy with me!” Rosie screamed, throwing her head back as her nostrils flared dangerously, her hand remaining perfectly steady the whole time. “He doesn’t need you, Miss Fisher! _He doesn’t!_ He needs _me!_ Not some…some Sentinel!”

“He does need me,” Phryne countered as calmly as she could, silently debating whether or not she could draw her gun from her purse without Rosie noticing. Given the way that the other woman’s eyes were moving constantly from Phryne’s face to her hands to her feet to her hair to her hands to her face…no, she’d need a distraction to achieve that. Instead her only option, she decided, was to keep Rosie talking until Jack and Hugh could arrive. “He’s a Guide, Miss Sanderson, _my Guide_. He needs me as much as I need him. It’s… _it’s biology…_ ”

“No!” Rosie denied. “That’s a lie that Sentinel’s like _you_ tell them so that you can get away with…with…with stealing whoever you want away from the people they should be with.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, Miss Sanderson, but _you_ left Jack, not the other way around…”

The scream that poured out of the woman before her caught Phryne completely unprepared, her enhanced hearing turning the inhuman screech into stabs of pain.

Stumbling back a couple of paces she realised that some of her neighbours were beginning to poke their heads out of their windows in search of the source of the screaming so late at night. No doubt she’d find her post box inundated with an equal measure of complaints and concerns come the morning, half of her neighbours still firmly against independent women.

That and a few of them were confused by her Sentinel status; older mundanes typically expected that only men would present as Sentinels and that women would be Guides.

“He changed!” Rosie screamed, throwing her empty hand out at her side. “After the war, after _presenting_ ,” she sneered, making her opinion of the phenomenon perfectly clear, “Suddenly I wasn’t good enough for him! Suddenly my touch was painful for him because I _couldn’t control my emotions_! Suddenly all he can talk about is _you,_ his perfect Sentinel!”

“Miss Sanderson, I am far from perfect…”

“Not according to him,” the distraught woman scoffed. “According to Jack the sun might as well be shining out of your _arse!”_ For the first time since pointing the weapon at Phryne the gun moved, used simply as emphasis by gesturing down towards her bottom. It was the first time Phryne had heard the other woman use anything but ladylike language, the common phrase so juxtaposed with the way she was dressed that under different circumstances it would have been all Phryne could do not to laugh. As it was she was able to remain silent. “He believes everything they say about Guides _needing_ their Sentinel but it’s all a lie! It has to be! You’re…you’re not even _human_! You’re a subspecies! Inferior! Why should you get…”

“ _Rosie!”_

Jack’s voice cut through like a knife, announcing his arrival. Neither woman had heard the car but there it was parked on the street in front of the house, Hugh hurriedly climbing out and following his superior through the gate. Eyes wide with what could easily be mistaken for madness Rosie watched her ex-husband, the man she had tried to manipulate back into her arms through isolation and lies, watched as he moved to stand between her and Phryne.

“Put the gun down, Rosie,” he all but growled, a hand reaching back to rest reassuringly on Phryne’s arm, reassuring for both of them. Unfortunately it just made Rosie angrier. _“Now.”_

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song featured in this chapter appears on the official Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries soundtrack - 'Sailin' on a Sunbean'


	9. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

They’d almost been out of the door when the phone rang. A moment later and they would never have known what was happening, possibly not until it was too late. As it was Collins, the diligent Detective Sergeant that he was, doubled back without hesitation to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hugh!”

Even standing near the door Jack could hear Dot, hear the absolute terror in his voice and without thinking about it he crossed to stand close enough to be able to share the phone.

“Miss Fisher is in trouble!”

“What? How?”

“It’s Miss Sanderson!” Dot gasped out, her answer sending a bolt of ice down Jack’s spine. “She’s here and she’s got a gun! Hugh, she…she was pointing it at Miss Fisher and I don’t…”

“We’re on our way,” Jack choked out, his voice no doubt startling the woman. “Stay inside.”

Collins repeated the instruction to his wife a couple more times before hanging up.

Jack, meanwhile, had crossed to the gun cabinet.

It felt as though he were trapped in a nightmare, arming himself to defend his Sentinel from the woman he had once loved, the same woman who had isolated him in an attempt to trick him into choosing her over the bond he felt with his Sentinel. The gun felt much heavier in his hand now than it had earlier when he’d been hunting down Mr Drake. Colder, as well. As Collins moved to join him he handed over a second pistol, watching his Sergeant secure the holster to his belt, the young man’s expression purposefully blank in order to hide his worry.

They ignored pretty much every traffic law in their haste to make it to Miss Fisher’s in time, just as they had ignored them earlier on when chasing down their suspect at the gardens.

He could hear raised voices as Collis pulled the car to a halt in front of Phryne’s house.

“No!” Rosie screamed, a hysterical edge to her normally composed voice that filled Jack with icy dread. “That’s a lie that Sentinel’s like _you_ tell them so that you can get away with…with…with stealing whoever you want away from the people they should be with.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, Miss Sanderson, but _you_ left Jack, not the other way around…”

“Phryne,” Jack hissed, flinching as his ex-wife let out an enraged scream in response to his Sentinel’s comment which, to some, could be interpreted as baiting. “Collins, we need to…”

“He changed!” Rosie screamed, drowning out his attempt to make a plan. “After the war, after _presenting_ ,” she sneered, making her opinion of the phenomenon perfectly clear, “Suddenly I wasn’t good enough for him! Suddenly my touch was painful for him because I _couldn’t control my emotions_! Suddenly all he can talk about is _you,_ his perfect Sentinel!”

“Miss Sanderson, I am far from perfect…”

“Not according to him,” his ex-wife spat, her voice filled with more hatred than Jack had ever expected to hear. “According to Jack the sun might as well be shining out of your _arse!”_

Stepping up to the gate he peered around the hedge, grimacing as he saw Rosie aiming his old service revolver at Phryne’s chest. Her hand was steady, her experience with weapons enough that he knew she wouldn’t miss; her father had taken her hunting from childhood.

“He believes everything they say about Guides _needing_ their Sentinel but it’s all a lie! It has to be! You’re…you’re not even _human_! You’re a subspecies! Inferior! Why should you get…”

He saw the moment she began to squeeze her finger on the trigger and moved, pushing open the gate without any thought to the danger he was putting himself in as a called out,

“ _Rosie!”_

Relief flashed in Phryne’s eyes when she glanced his way whilst Rosie, as he looked past his Sentinel to the woman threatening her, looking even angrier than before. He kept his gun at his side, finger resting on the trigger guard so that he could use it if he was forced to do so.

Moving forwards he stepped between the two women, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up the moment he placed himself in between Rosie’s weapon and her target.

“Put the gun down, Rosie,” he all but growled, a hand reaching back to rest reassuringly on Phryne’s arm, reassuring for both of them. Unfortunately it just made Rosie angrier. _“Now.”_

“Why?” Rosie screamed, stamping her foot like a child. “Why does she get to have you?”

“Rosie…”

_“You were mine first!”_

He shifted to the right just enough to confirm that Rosie was now focused on him, her aim shifting as he moved so as to keep the gun trained on his chest even though Phryne was now partially visible behind him. Rosie _could_ have re-aimed her gun at her original target…

…but she didn’t.

Good.

_“You should be mine!”_

Sadness washed over him as he locked his gaze with that of his ex-wife, allowing his empathic abilities to reach out to her in order to get a feel for her emotional state.

Anger, vile and putrid, washed over him followed by desperation.

Jealousy, so strong it was almost physically crippling, stabbing deep into his gut.

And, most alarmingly, a growing sense of resignation.

“Why?” Rosie choked out. “Why did you have you…?”

“Because she’s my Sentinel, Rosie,” he sighed, not wanting to hurt her any more but unable to answer with anything but the truth. “And I’m sorry but nothing’s going to change that...”

Rosie let out a sob, her free hand moving up to pull at her hair in a classic sign of frustration.

“Then it was all for nothing,” she gasped sharply. “Everything I did…everything I sacrificed…”

Her resignation grew, sadness and regret creeping in before her emotions suddenly shut off.

“Rosie…”

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and announced hollowly,

“I won’t let you have him, Miss Fisher.”

As though this was some sort of terrible dream the world seemed to slow around him.

Rosie’s finger tightening on the trigger…

His arm rising up, his aim steady and true…

A hand shoving him between his shoulder blades …

His body tumbling forwards, caught by surprise…

Collin’s shouting for Rosie to stop…

And then, just as his body struck the path with a loud thud, two instantaneous gunshots…

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the ending but...well...I couldn't resist...


	10. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

Stepping up to the lectern, his expression as sombre as the black suit he had purchased especially for this sad occasion, Jack found the bookmark that had been placed in the bible and carefully opened it up onto the correct page for the reading he’d been asked to give.

Clearing his throat he began to read, his voice loud enough to be heard by all in attendance,

“Psalm 46

_God is our hope and strength,  
a very present help in trouble._

_Therefore will we not fear, though the earth be moved,  
and though the hills be carried into the midst of the sea;_

_Though the waters thereof rage and swell,  
and though the mountains shake at the tempest of the same._”

Here he paused, looking up from the cursive text to meet the tear filled eyes of the parents sat close together in the front pew of the church, their hands clutched together desperately.

His empathic abilities were as locked down as he could make them so that the magnitude of the grief and almost bitter regret felt by those gathered together wouldn’t overwhelm him.

Even then it was almost unbearable…

Hurriedly he looked back down at the text and continued with his steady recitation,

_“There is a river, the streams whereof make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacle of the Most Highest._

_God is in the midst of her, therefore shall she not be removed;  
God shall help her, and that right early.”_

Someone towards the back of the church let out a gasping sob which was quickly muffled by their own hand, their companion wrapping a comforting arm tightly around their shoulders.

A second sob, from someone closer to the front, followed just as he knew it would; once one person lost control of their emotions at a funeral or a wedding others always followed.

“ _Be still then, and know that I am God;  
I will be exalted among the nations, and I will be exalted in the earth._

 _The Lord of hosts is with us;  
the God of Jacob is our refuge._”

With his reading finished he carefully closed the bible and turned, faltering slightly as he caught sight of the mahogany coffin with its beautiful arrangements of white tulips, roses, snapdragons, lilies, larkspur, carnations and monte casino asters. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to keep walking, making his way back to the other front row pew.

“That was beautiful, Jack,” his Sentinel murmured as he settled back down into the seat beside her, his hand automatically seeking hers. Phryne hadn’t left his side except when absolutely necessary for the past week, offering him the stability and comfort he’d been desperately in need of following the death of his ex-wife. There had been a moment that night where he’d fully expected to lose both of the women he had loved but, when he’d pushed himself up onto his knees and spun to face her he’d found Phryne still on her feet with a hand pressed to the outside of her left upper arm. “Truly. You did poor Rosie proud.”

Rosie’s shot had gone wide, grazing her arm instead of striking her in the chest.

Phryne’s shot had been perfect, striking Rosie in the heart and putting an end to her pain.

“She’s at peace now,” Phryne murmured, echoing the words Dot had said countless times ever since they’d caught her up on everything that had happened that day. “She can rest.”

Everyone had agreed that something had changed in Rosie following the discovery that her second husband had made his money kidnapping and trafficking impoverished young girls.

The fact that her father had been involved, so much as he’d turned a blind eye and used his position as the police commissioner to keep the police from looking into the disappearances had only made things worse for her. Jack couldn’t help but glance across at the Sanderson’s.

Mrs Sanderson looked as though a strong breeze would be the end of her, the tragic loss of her daughter and her family’s reputation clearly having a devastating effect on her health.

And, if anything, George looked even worse.

They’d let him out of prison for his daughter’s funeral and his time behind bars had stripped away what little fat had been present on his body leaving him gaunt and pale. Added to that was his obvious grief over what his actions had driven his daughter to in her desperate need to restore some comfort to her life by forcing Jack back to her side. His hair was pure white, so white it almost seemed to glow, and as Jack watched a tear made its way down his cheek.

The rest of the service passed mercifully quickly and soon they were gathered around the plot Rosie’s mother had chosen for her, watching as she was lowered into the ground. He said his goodbyes then, silently, as he dropped a single blue hyacinth down into the grave; Dot had helped him choose the bloom to signify how sorry he was that it had come to this.

“Come on, Jack,” Phryne murmured, slipping her hand into his. “Let’s go home.”

They found the house, which was always a hive of activity, strangely empty.

“Dot?” Phryne called out, concerned. “Mr Butler? Jane?”

“Collins?” Jack joined in, ducking his head into the front room as Phryne made to go upstairs. An envelope caught his eye, resting in the centre of the mantelpiece. “Phryne!”

Hurrying into the room, fearing the worst, they tore open the envelope and found…

“ _Miss, I know it might not be the appropriate time given the funeral but we’ve all agreed that the two of you have waited long enough to be together. Jane is going to stay at my mothers with Hugh and me for a few days and Mr Butler is staying with Bert and Cec,”_ Phryne read aloud, her voice going from panicked to amused within two sentences. “Oh, I’m sure the three of them will love that arrangement; kindred spirts Mr Butler and Bert are not. Now, what else does my dear companion say? _There’s plenty of food in the larder so you won’t starve but please let me know if there’s anything else you need and I’ll pop it round. We’ll all be back in a week if we don’t hear from you sooner. Enjoy yourselves. Love, Dot.”_

“There’s a post-script,” Jack pointed out as Phryne chuckled in response to Dot’s innocently phrased insinuation of what they should spend the week doing. “ _P.S I’ve left a list of the churches that are happy to officiate Sentinel/Guide weddings on the kitchen table so if you’d be kind enough to let me know which one you prefer I’ll start making enquiries about dates.”_

Phryne snorted rather indelicately and completely adorably, in his opinion.

“…not one for wasting time is our Dot…”

“There’s plenty of time for us to worry about marriage, if that’s even something you’d be interested in, my wonderfully independent Sentinel,” Jack found himself murmuring, taking the letter from Phryne, sliding it back into the envelope and returning it to the mantelpiece. “After all, Dot is perfectly right; we _have_ waited long enough. So, Miss Phryne Fisher?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“It would be my honour to become your Guide, properly.”

“And it would be my honour to become your Sentinel, Jack. Properly.”

Jack smiled, leaning down to kiss her lips as gently as he could.

“Then will you take me upstairs, Sentinel? I would very much like to Bond with you now.”

She could have said something smart or funny in return.

It would have been very in keeping with her character if she had.

But she didn’t.

Instead she had smiled, surprisingly shyly, taken his hand and led him upstairs.

They’d both agreed to wait until after the funeral, for proprieties sake, but in that time he’d broken the lease on his flat ad moved in to the beautiful house his Sentinel owned. Not into her room, though; not yet. That would have been too much of a risk, would have made it too easy for them to get carried away without meaning to so he’d stayed in a guest room.

It had been hell.

Now there was no reason to wait.

Their movements were effortless in their simplicity, stripping each other down to their skin so as to glut themselves on each other. As they bodies became one for the first time Jack allowed his Sentinels emotions to sink into his very soul as she glutted herself on his taste, his scent, his touch and most importantly to her the beat of his heart, fusing them together.

“Phryne…my beautiful _Sentinel…”_

“Jack…oh, Jack, my wonderful _Guide…”_

It was a long time coming, the formation of their Bond, but _oh_ was it worth the wait.

**~ THE END ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had a couple of requests for a bit more character history and a bit more Cec/Bert, both of which sparked my plot bunnies back into action and so I’m pleased to announce that at some point a prequel will be appearing. 
> 
> Originally I had planned to make it a simple one-shot…but then those plot bunnies reappeared and plated the idea of a crossover between this AU version of ‘Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries’, ‘ANZAC Girls’ and the 2015 series ‘Gallipoli’…so that’s what’s going to be coming your way in the near/distant future.
> 
> Hope you’re all staying safe and well. 
> 
> Comments & suggestions feed the plot bunnies in the back of my mind :)


End file.
